Isolent Disobedience
by asomyrcal
Summary: Chapter 2 of 2: Complete - Bite marks and defiance are merely ingredients in a recipe for disaster. Or punishment. And in Dietrich's case, it could well be punishment he's looking for.
1. Chapter 1

**Title**: Isolent Disobedience  
**Fandom**: Trinity Blood  
**Pairing**: Isaak x Dietrich, I think?  
**Synopsis**: Bite marks and defiance are merely ingredients in a recipe for disaster. Or punishment.

The blood-soaked shirt slipped off his shoulders, dropping silently to the ground. There was a soft groan as his body slipped into warm water, eyes slipping shut. The water was almost immediately tinged red from sticky residue on his neck, shoulders and chest. Dietrich hissed softly as warm water came into contact with still open wounds, raising a hand to his neck and pressing against the dual puncture wounds there.

"Flamberg certainly bit hard..." Hazel eyes opened slightly, hand lifting a soaked towel to the wounds, rinsing dried blood off. The wounds stung, but it would close in time. Dietrich rose from the bath, water trailing down his lithe form, grabbing a towel from a rack and drying himself off as he left the bathroom. He would have to bind and deal with the wounds, and conceal the one on his neck. Especially the one on his neck.

Slender fingers rummaged through the first aid kit, drawing out several rolls of white bandages. He groaned softly as the bandage covered lacerated skin, then tugged his shirt on over the now bandaged skin. His fingers still bore some of the scrapes the methuselah's teeth had inflicted on him, but at least the gloves could hide that. Dietrich got dressed, buttoning up his coat and arranging the belts to look more presentable. He had just been about to open the door when the knob turned, and a black-garbed magician materialized in the doorway.

"You didn't show up." Gloved fingers stole across the puppetmaster's cheek, trailing down to rest on his neck. Eyes roamed around the room, taking in the sight of a barely concealed blood encrusted shirt, remnants of the white bandage scattered near the table. "Got into a fight again, puppetmaster?"

Dietrich showed no outward sign of discomfort as Isaak's grip tightened slightly, even though it hurt. Beneath the bandage, the barely healed wounds started to bleed again, crimson seeping out and onto the bandage. He reached up, fingers gripping Isaak's wrist. "I was careless."

Fingers crept over Dietrich's collar, loosening the tie and flicking the button open. Fingers crept into the puppetmaster's shirt, feeling the coarse bandage and dampness of blood. "Careless enough to get your throat slit?" Isaak's lips curled into a smirk, his slender fingers starting to apply pressure against the wound. His lips came dangerously close to Dietrich's ear. "Or have you been doing something else? Because..." Out of nowhere, there was a flash of silver, and Dietrich felt blood trickle from a single, razor thin cut on his throat. Bloodied bandages fluttered to the ground.

"Fights don't leave methuselah bite marks on one's throat."

Dietrich stiffened visibly. Behind him, the magician's lips curled into a smile. His fingers wrapped tightly around Dietrich's throat, and in an instant, the puppetmaster found himself pinned to the wall. "So it's true, then? Who was it, hm? Flamberg? Or was it some other methuselah..." Cold velvet drawled sarcastically, the razor sharp point of the knife resting on Dietrich's collarbone. Fingers deftly undid and removed Dietrich's belt. His coat followed shortly, black fabric dropping to the ground at Dietrich's feet.

"Hmph. What I do in my personal life isn't your concern."

The knife slid down, hooking in the first button and severing the threads holding it. The magician's smile grew wider. "On the contrary, your personal life is one of my utmost importance. A leader should always look after their subordinates, no?" Razor sharp steel pressed down further, this time slicing through the fabric and catching slightly on the bandages beneath. White, tinged red with blood, parted to reveal raw flesh, lacerations made by vampire nails and fangs marring pale skin.

Dietrich reached up, catching hold of Isaak's hand, stopping the knife from moving any further. Within seconds, the magician found himself bound with strings. He raised an eyebrow, finding it strange to be restrained with the puppetmaster's uncanny strings, yet, at the same time, didn't find them too much of a nuisance.

"Mind your own business, Panzer Magier." The strings tightened ever so slightly around the magician's now captive form.

Those were the wrong words to say, perhaps, as the magician rematerialized from shadows right next to the puppetmaster, just out of the grip of his strings, gripping his throat and pushing him down onto the bed, straddling his hips at the same time. "You're never satisfied until you've gotten under my skin, until you've agitated me, are you? And you think you know the right strings to pull... Oh, my dear puppetmaster, you've made a mistake this time round."

"Oh, is that so?" There was a cocky grin on the puppetmaster's face.

Isaak's smile was as cold as ice. "Oh, most certainly so."

Shadows wrapped around Dietrich's wrists, arms, waist, ankles, and even his neck. But suddenly, at the same time, Isaak felt a strange sensation in his body, as though something not of his making had gripped him. His eyes narrowed, gaze coming to rest on the cocky grin which remained on Dietrich's young face. Then, it struck him.

"Checkmate." Dietrich smirked. He couldn't move his limbs, but it didn't matter. Isaak wouldn't be moving either, his strings held the magician hostage, a prisoner in his own body, a body which was now a puppet of Dietrich's.

Isaak barely managed a smile. The boy was smart, perhaps too smart for his own good. "Don't think you've won yet, Marionettenspieler. Oh, you'll regret this later. Or have you forgotten, each action has a consequence? There will be some form of discipline for this insolent actions of yours."

The puppetmaster's smirk merely widened. "I'll be looking forward to it."


	2. Chapter 2

"You enjoy the abuse, don't you? Such a masochist..." Upon some unspoken command, the shadows tightened, becoming an almost crushing grip on the puppetmaster's wrists. Isaak smiled slightly, the slight curl of his lips hiding the cruelty in his eyes. At the same time, the magician felt his body being jerked forward, an effect of Dietrich's uncanny strings. Dietrich smiled just as sweetly.

"You know me all too well, Isaak." His tongue flicked out, teasing Isaak's lips. For a moment, the magician wanted to kiss him properly. He knew that the puppetmaster would taste the same, of poison tainted chocolate and sugar. A taste he was, perhaps, all too familiar with.

"I know you well enough to know that trusting you is a very dangerous thing to do."

The smirk on Dietrich's face widened slightly. "Trusting me is like trusting the devil."

"And trusting the devil is a double-edged sword. You might strike a bargain with him instead. And indeed, we might need to come to a compromise." The shadows around Dietrich's wrist tightened just the slightest. "You see, if we keep this up, you might end up with broken wrists."

Dietrich flexed his fingers slightly. "A compromise, is it?" There was a gleam of mischief in his eyes. There was a look in the puppetmaster's eyes which made Isaak wonder if he shouldn't have suggested it. But still, the words had left his lips, and he couldn't possibly recall it even if he wanted to.

"Yes, a compromise. You will release me from your uncanny strings, and in return I will let you go." He kept his voice flat and emotionless. Below him, the puppetmaster's lips curled into a smile. It wasn't a pleasant smile in the least. Isaak met Dietrich's gaze with a stoic look, eyes betraying nothing of the uncertainty he felt in having to trust Dietrich. Dietrich specialized in betrayal, and the magician knew, despite his rank, even he too, was susceptible to the puppetmaster's betrayal.

"Since you asked so nicely."

Moments later, Isaak felt that strange influence on his nerves ebb away, and his body was his own once more. The shadows had dissipated as well, vanishing to the realm from where they had come. Isaak's lips curled into a smirk. "For one who specializes in betrayal, you're surprisingly trusting." His words were silken, a promise of pain woven into them.

Ungloved hands cupped Isaak's cheek, trailing down bare skin, and starting to unbutton his shirt. "Trusting?"

Isaak made to move his arms, but suddenly found that he wasn't able to move. His eyes widened; Isaak couldn't sense any of Dietrich's nerve binding strings, but yet... His head whipped around, glaring at the puppetmaster. Dietrich merely smiled slightly. His strings had bound Isaak's body, making him no more dangerous than a muzzled canine. The magician wouldn't be able to move at all now, not even to give a single command to summon the darkness in which he felt so welcome.

"Darkness isn't going to come to your aid now, my dear Panzer Magier." Fingers trailed down his bare chest, nails suddenly digging into the skin. Isaak wanted to flinch, but found that he couldn't. Then suddenly, pain stabbed through his body. What would have been a pained cry merely slipped out as a muted grunt, his body twitching in the web of strings which held him captive. Blood started to trickle from a wound Dietrich had made in Isaak's shoulder, making a spiderweb-like, crimson pattern on his back.

"Step into my palour..." Fingers teased the jagged edges of the cut. "... Said the spider to the fly."

Isaak had half been expecting Dietrich's fingers to plunge into the wound, but yet there was nothing. A measure of shock showed in the magician's eyes. Dietrich merely smiled, slipping off the bed. There was a slight ruckus from where the kitchen, and Dietrich emerged again. There was a rattle as the puppetmaster set a bucket of ice down on the side table. Isaak's eyes narrowed in suspicion.

"I have other methods, dear magician. Instead of inflicting pain..." Isaak froze as an ice-cube slid down his back. The chill of frozen, solidified water sent a shudder up his spine. Lips brushed against his ear. "This isn't the worst I can do."

There was something in Dietrich's voice which nearly froze his blood. Something in his voice, which promised more than just pleasure. It promised pain and long, drawn-out suffering. Perhaps death, even. Isaak shuddered involuntarily. He tried to speak, but found that that was one thing he was still unable to do. Dietrich smirked, watching as Isaak struggled futilely to get free. "You must be suffering, no? To be deprived of control like this..." His slender fingers slipped a blindfold over the captive magician's eyes. "And now deprived of sight..."

Dietrich smirked. His lips teased Isaak's, fingers roaming over torn skin, smearing more blood over his back. Water, stained pale red from the blood, was starting to seep into the sheets, marring them a pale pink. A groan slipped from Isaak's lips.

"It's really a thrill, you know. To have you bound and helpless, completely at another's mercy..." Dietrich's voice was a gentle purr at Isaak's ear. Another ice-cube slipped down Isaak's back, slender fingers guiding it in circles, leaving damp trails of water on the magician's back. "Oh, and don't struggle. It makes me want to restrain you even more. To push you to your limit until you're not able to take it..."

Then it struck him, the icy chill which started at the base of his spine. His eyes widened, staring at Dietrich in disbelief. His lips moved, voice hoarse. "You really are going to kill me, aren't you?"

The chill was spreading, enfolding his body, his limbs, and creeping higher still. The smile on Dietrich's face was disconcerting, almost too calm to be joking. He saw the puppetmaster's lips move, heard the words which froze his blood. "Kill you? And deprive myself of the fun which I could have by torturing you, making you my puppet? Oh, I don't think so. I want to shatter you. To break you so utterly and completely..."

Isaak felt as though ice had completely enveloped him. Above him, the puppetmaster continued to smile. The magician felt his eyes closing, lethargy creeping over him. "I always knew you would destroy me one day, you beautiful, sadistic Marionettenspieler..."

"You know everything, Isaak." There was a flash of silver, and for a moment, Isaak thought he recognized it. The same arcane symbols, the elongated, slender blade, it was all too familiar, but yet his muddled brain didn't seem to be able to process the information. He was almost at his limit, any more and...

Pain stabbed through his body. A cry of pain tore loose from the magician's throat. It felt as though the ice was shattering into a million pieces, taking his body with it. Isaak's taller, bound frame jerked, writhing in the strings which held him fast, then slowly, like a fly ensnared in its deathtrap, grew still. Darkness flooded his vision, and then, there was nothing but oblivion.

Hazel eyes narrowed, a wave of slender fingers slicing through the strings and setting Isaak free. The magician lay deathly still on the bed. Fingers gently caressed Isaak's cheek, whispering quietly to him. There was still no response. And as much as he didn't want to, Dietrich felt a slight twinge tug at his conscience. Cruel as he was, Isaak had been his mentor for years and perhaps, because the magician had cared, in his own twisted and sadistic way, Dietrich had, to some extent, come to love him. Call it a twisted love, he thought wryly.

Fingers gently stroked Isaak's cheek.

"Perhaps I have really pushed you too far." Dietrich rose, returning with a warm cloth. He had long released his string's uncanny effects on the mage's body, when Isaak woke, there would be no more of the icy chill which he knew had enveloped Isaak's body. Almost gently, Dietrich wiped the blood away from Isaak's back, absently stroking his hair. He sighed softly, pressing a kiss to the unconscious mage's lips. He knew not of how to express concern, having little need for such expressions, opting instead to simply remain there until the mage woke.

Isaak didn't know how much time had gone by. There was nothing but oblivion for a long time, until suddenly, consciousness bloomed in his mind, a flower spreading its petals to the world. His senses returned, slightly fuzzy at first, but Isaak soon made out the feeling of a warm cloth against broken skin, the sting of open wounds, and a gentle hand stroking his hair. A murderous rage bubbled up in him at Dietrich's actions, and on an unspoken command from him, shadows reached out, lashing around Dietrich's wrists, torso, neck.

The puppetmaster let out a strangled cry as his lith form was pulled from the bed, slammed brutally against the wall, hands bound above his head.

"You always were a poisonous snake, aren't you?" Isaak pushed himself off the bed, standing unsteadily on his feet. His fingers grasped the handled of the now bloodied knife, stalking closer to the trapped puppetmaster.

Dietrich's eyes widened slightly as Isaak leaned close, the knife thudding just beside his head, trapping a few strands of chocolate brown hair, but yet there was no sign of fear in his voice when he spoke. "Well, you seem all well and dandy. I suppose my worry was for nothing." The puppetmaster sounded almost nonchalant, but there was something else in his voice, something that Isaak just couldn't place.

"You, worry? How novel of you." Isaak regarded Dietrich with an almost cold glare.

There was no hiding the malice in Isaak's voice. He yanked the knife out from where he himself had embedded it into the wall, the bloodied blade trailing over Dietrich's throat, leaving the tiniest traces of blood on a relatively unmarred throat.

"I could kill you right now." Isaak's voice was low, a serpent's hiss. Pressure on the blade increased, its razor sharp surface starting to dig into Dietrich's throat. A tiny trickle of blood slipped down pale skin, and was met by Isaak's tongue, lapping away the crimson liquid. "But I won't." His words were a whisper against Dietrich's ear.

"Changing your mind now, are you, Isaak?"

A smirk curled Isaak's lips. "Why kill you, when I could, in your own words, have so much fun torturing you?"

"And you always said I was the sadistic one. So who's the wolf with red roses now, eh?" Dietrich shifted slightly, turning his gaze to meet Isaak's. There was no answer from the mage, as wine-tainted lips closed over the puppeteer's, cutting off his words. The knife clattered to the ground, forgotten as hands replaced shadows, keeping Dietrich firmly pinned against the wall.

"Oh, a wolf's bite is nothing compared to a snake's poison. And you, my dear puppetmaster, are toxic."


End file.
